


that thing with feathers

by tectrices (an_ardent_rain)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, PWP, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_ardent_rain/pseuds/tectrices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The feathers she pulled out are still laying on the bed. They don’t look like regular bird feathers - the air shimmers around them, almost like they’re trying not to be seen. She scoops them up and sticks them in her bra. Perfect start to a collection, she thinks. Next time she’ll have to grab a couple more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	that thing with feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the LJ SPN Kink Meme

“Show me your wings,” she says, her mouth hot and wet against his jaw. She grabs his hair and tugs, and his stubble scrapes across the skin of her neck. It’s a low, heady burn and he murmurs into her neck, words she can’t hear. He doesn’t answer her question, though, and she tugs harder. “I said...” He looks up at her, eyes hard, and she smiles, sharp as a knife. She straddles him, wrapping his tie around her hand. “Show me your wings.”

“No,” he says, and his jaw is jutted out hard, defiant, like maybe he has even a modicum of control in the situation. He sounds almost angry - and really, it’s adorable, the way he fights her. 

“Please?” she asks, and his eyes darken further - and okay, yeah, she wasn’t even trying to fake sincere. His hands come up to her sides, sliding under her shirt and gripping her waist, the blunt tips of his nails digging into her skin. He probably doesn’t mean it as one, but she decides to take it as an invitation. She peels off her shirt and unhooks her bra, shimmying out of it and throwing them both off to the side. His eyes flicker down to her breasts and it’s hard to tell if it’s appreciation or ambivalence. 

He still doesn’t answer and she takes that as invitation, too, undoing that stupid tie he wears and then unbuttoning his shirt. He doesn’t help when she pushes all his layers off his shoulders; she stops when they’re about halfway down his arms. It’s a good look for him, arms almost pinned to his sides. She leans down and licks him, letting the flat of her tongue run over a nipple. He makes a breathy noise and his hips shift subtly.

“Let me see ‘em, Clarence,” she says. Her hands run down his body and she digs into muscle, relishing in the feeling when she reaches his thighs. He probably doesn’t even realize how well-made his meat suit is, or how pretty. Stupid fucking angel. She licks her lips and noses at his jaw, letting her hands move inward toward his cock. “Bet they’re pretty. Bet they’re _big_.” He exhales and the feel of it makes her want to shiver. She rolls her neck so his mouth brushes against her skin and his hips move again; she bites the lobe of his ear and palms his cock, moving her hand nice and slow. “Just let me see them,” she says again. “Whip ‘em out.”

He grabs her by the waistband of her jeans. “I said no.” She pulls away from him, looks at him - faces so close they’re almost nose to nose. He yanks open the button and then yanks the fly so hard the zip comes undone, too. Meg moves off his lap and stands, pushing down her jeans and stepping out of them. He rolls his shoulders and shakes his arms, and his jacket and shirt fall to the floor. 

She moves back to him, grabbing his head and tilting it up to meet his eyes. His head’s about level with her belly and if he wants to argue they can keep doing that, sure, but she can think of something else he should be doing with that pretty mouth of his. “You show me your wings I’ll let you fuck me,” she says. 

He raises an eyebrow, wearing an expression she’s thinking is disbelief. “Am I to understand that’s not what you’re going to do anyway?”

She grins and it’s so dangerous he looks a little wary. “Aww, Clarence. Didn’t know you liked me so much.” She moves even closer, standing between his legs, and bends down, resting her arms on his shoulders. “Are you saying you want me? That you’d let me fuck you?”

It’s gratifying to see those pretty eyes flutter closed. His hands close soft on her hips, thumbs running across the jut of bone right above the waistline of her panties. He doesn’t speak, so she leans in, head tilted, so close he could smile and she’d feel it. 

“Come on,” she breathes. “I’m not going to take it. Gonna make you give it to me.” The movement is subtle, but he lifts his head; and that is invitation, whether he knows it or not. “Just an inch more. Less than an inch. Kiss me,” she coaxes. Her fingers move across his chest and one of his thumbs dips into her underwear and tugs a little. Teasing him’s proven entertaining so far, so she licks across his bottom lip. 

Castiel groans, deep in his throat, a low rumble that she can feel between her legs. He needs to hurry and give in to goddamn temptation already, she thinks, because he’s ripe and ready and she really _really_ wants to take a bite. Her mouth opens and she breathes against him, brushing one of his nipples with the pad of her thumb.

That does it and he surges forward, pressing against her lips with his, curling his tongue into her mouth. Meg smirks against him, pulling at his arm so he stumbles up with her. She guides him to the bed as best she can; it’s harder to concentrate than she’d have expected with his mouth working hers like it is. It’s far from expert, but it’s so goddamn enthusiastic, so genuinely, unabashedly lustful, that’s it’s amping up her - already keen - arousal up to eleven. Lust is a fucking fantastic sin.

They hit the foot of the bed and she’s already worming one hand down his pants when he grabs her shoulders and pulls away. He pushes her down and she falls onto the mattress; his body covers hers and they’re kissing again, rough and wet.

“Your wings. I want to see your wings,” she keens, dragging her nails down his back. 

He stills and she sucks hard on his tongue. With a growl he pulls away and straightens up. He’s flushed and messy, and she thinks that she wants to dirty him up a little more. Her mind gets hazy when it’s sex-addled, and there are flashes of wanting to hurt him, wanting to peel him out of his body, work her way under his skin. She wants to make him cry - but she’s not sure if it’ll be because of pleasure or pain. 

“My wings,” Castiel says. He sounds so deliberate, so unsure, like it’s a much bigger deal than it is. 

Meg stretches out, the line of her body fluid and long. “Your wings,” she parrots. 

He leans over her again, holding his weight up on his arms, eyes closed. His whole body moves on a sigh and the air around him starts to shimmer. There’s a blip of light in the room and she sees two smoky, nebulous forms blink into existence behind him. His shoulders move, muscles bunching, and in the time it takes her to blink there are two huge wings sprouting out of his back, covered in silky black feathers.

“Oh yes,” she says, yanking him towards her, trying to get her hands in his wings.

He grabs her wrists before she can, though, pinning her arms down on the bed. She fights, trying to twist away from him, but he’s too strong. It gets her even hotter, and there’ll be time for foreplay bullshit later, she wants him inside her now.

“Take off your fucking pants,” she bites out. She lifts her hips, fighting against his hold. “Take your fucking pants off now.” He lets go of her and steps back. He fumbles with the button for a second, but then he’s sliding out of his pants and his briefs and she sucks in a breath when she sees him naked. He’s beautiful, he’s really fucking beautiful, and she wants to dirty him, ruin him, tear off that pristine veneer. He’s probably never even used his dick, the stupid goddamn angel, and that is a shame, that is a terrible fucking shame, because he’s got at least seven inches - maybe more, she doesn’t have a goddamn ruler on her, and hey, it’s girth she’s interested in anyway - of thick, beautiful cock hard and ready in front of her, and if he doesn’t know how fuckable he is, then he’s an idiot.

He moves in to kiss her again, but she grabs a thick handful of his hair and moves his head away. He nuzzles at her shoulder and she tilts her head back, encouraging him. It works, because his mouth gets involved, breathing a wet streak into her skin. His tongue darts out against her and she guides him down her body. His bites are gentle, but the kisses are inciting so she lets that go. There’s so much power coiled inside him; she wants to spring it, let it go, but as long as he fucks her, lets her bury her fingers in his wings and pull hard, pull until he’s screaming louder than she is, then it doesn’t matter if it’s as rough as she likes. Well. Doesn’t matter much.

When he finally gets to her breasts, her body jolts and arches off the bed. “Very good, Clarence,” she purrs. Her hands skim along the tips of his feathers and his arms tremble lightly. He sucks on a nipple and it sends heat lancing through her. She tugs hard on his wings and he bites down. Meg groans, and he tongues at her breast, quick and sloppy. He rolls her nipple with the point of his tongue, then closes his lips around it. Something akin to electricity courses from her breast downward, and a heaviness pools between her thighs. The pad of a thumb brushes hard against her other nipple and she bucks up. 

“You’re still wearing your underwear,” he says, his mouth moving down to her ribs. One finger is hooked into the waist of her panties and she wouldn’t be wearing them if he’d take some fucking initiative, but poor, sheltered church boy is probably waiting for permission.

“Am I?” She can quite reach his groin with her hand so runs her toes along the back of his leg. “Then take them off.”

He kisses his way down to them, holding her hips to the bed with his big, warm hands. He grabs her panties with his teeth and yanks. They don’t go far, and he keeps kissing her belly as he rolls them down her legs. She’s about to tell him that he doesn’t have to go down on her - not like she’s going to return the favor until she’s gotten at least three orgasms from him under her belt - that she’d rather he just get his pretty little ass into gear and start pounding into her, but he takes matters into his own hands when he buries his face in her pussy.

He spreads her thighs, pushing them apart with firm hands, fingers digging into her skin. Granted, she’s so fucking turned on he’d have to be absolutely terrible for it not to feel good, but damn it all if the angel isn’t great at what he’s doing. His tongue runs over her clit and she bites her lip so hard it starts to bleed. She probably moans, too, but if she does it’s not something she has the brain function to notice. 

“You like that?” he asks, voice only just loud enough for her to hear. His tongue just dips inside her body and then he curls it out, flattening it and going back to her clit. He circles it with the tip of his tongue and then kisses the inside of her thigh.

Meg plans to kick him in the face - because what the fuck, does he really think he’s stopping when she’s that close? - but he grabs her and flips her onto her stomach. The bedding’s scratchy and her nipples are sensitive, damn it, but it doesn’t matter anymore when he leans over her and she feels the broad, flat plane of his chest against her back. He presses his face into the place where her neck and shoulder meet and kisses her. He bites at her collarbone, then soothes it with his tongue. She gets on her knees and wiggles, pressing her ass against her cock.

He groans into her shoulder and grabs her hips. One hand goes behind her and wraps around his cock; his hand covers hers and she helps guide him to her body until he’s just pressing inside. With a long groan he pushes in; and it’s a full, stretched feeling. Fuck, it’s a wonder the stupid humans can go as long as they do without this feeling - compared to this her meat suit feels so fucking empty on its own.

Castiel doesn’t move, only breathes, and she pushes back against him. “Oh,” he says, sounding wrecked. She squeezes around him. He wraps one arm around her middle and pulls her against him and up, so they’re both on their knees, her back pressed into his chest. 

She reaches back and ruffles his feathers, pulling a few between her fingers. He’s only just rocking his hips and it’s not enough, she needs more. “Harder,” she says, tugging harder on his wing. The other is fluttering a little and it’s making a breeze. It raises goosebumps and all the sensations feel sharper. “Harder,” she says again, “fuck, Castiel, _harder_. Move, you angelic piece of shit.”

“Be quiet,” he hisses behind her. His arm around her tightens, just under her breasts. But he does start moving, thrusting into her in a hard rhythm. Her back arches and her other hand goes between her legs. She wishes she could see his wings, that maybe their positions were reversed, and she was the one pounding into him. Something to consider for next time. Her fingers find her clit, though, and she stops thinking altogether. 

She’s riding higher and higher, and the wave’s about to crest. He bites into the side of her neck, hard, much harder than any other time, hard enough to draw blood, and that’s what does it. Pleasure hits her like a fucking lightning bolt and she cries out, yanking at his wing so hard she pulls out a few feathers. He cries out with her, rhythm faltering, and he moves his arm. She falls forward, onto her elbows, her body trembling with the aftershocks as he keeps thrusting into her. It’s so hard that her body pitches forward every time he moves, but she doesn’t really mind. She squeezes around him again and he grunts, loses his rhythm, and then he’s coming, too, shooting off inside her.

As expected, he’s awkward when they pull apart, not looking at her as she redresses. He just blinks his clothes on; fucking show off.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” she says, pitching her voice low and sultry, hoping for a reaction.

Castiel just makes a noncommittal noise, looking somewhere to the left. There’s nothing there but a bare wall, and Meg snorts, sidling up to him. His head jerks up when he feels her hand land between his shoulder blades and he gives her a dirty look. He’s gone a second later and she sighs, stretching her arms out. 

The feathers she pulled out are still laying on the bed. They don’t look like regular bird feathers - the air shimmers around them, almost like they’re trying not to be seen. She scoops them up and sticks them in her bra. Perfect start to a collection, she thinks. Next time she’ll have to grab a couple more.


End file.
